The Next Generation
by Gimli and Legolas
Summary: The next generation of Middle-earth... proving they can be just as much trouble as their fathers!
1. Prologue In Which It Begins

**The Lord of the Rings: The Next Generation  
  
**_A/N: I'd just like to say that we don't own a thing (mores the pity) and  
that this story is seriously SERIOUSLY out of canon but it's extremely  
funny (we hope). Besides, if Peter Jackson can go out of canon so can we.  
Here goes nothing.  
_  
**The Introduction (This involves jumping around Middle Earth Quite a lot, so  
bear with us)**  
  
It was Midsummer's Day in Hobbiton, and Sam was having a wonderfully  
relaxing day. He wasn't at work for the afternoon, the sun was shining, and  
Rosie had said that she would look after the kids for a while.  
  
Rosie wished that she had never agreed to it.  
  
She not only had Frodo and Elanor to look after, but Faramir and Théoden  
were also at Bag End, and they were all playing hide and seek extremely  
loudly.  
  
"Hah! Found you Frodo!"  
  
"You'll have to catch me first!"  
  
"That's not fair you _know_ you're faster than me!"  
  
"Ha ha! But he's not faster that me!"  
  
"Théoden! You're not involved!"  
  
At that moment, Merry and Pippin walked through the door, and Rosie sighed  
with relief.  
  
There was an immediate cry of "DAD!" from the back room, and the two young  
hobbits came rushing out and jumped into their father's arms.  
  
Merry called into the hallway. "Thanks Rosie, you're a life saver!" he exclaimed, and left with young Théoden under his right arm, followed by a very excited Faramir  
now sitting on Pippin's shoulders.  
  
Peace momentarily returned to Bag End, before Frodo and Elanor started up a  
new game of 'tig'. Rosie longed for evening so she could finally put them to  
sleep.  
  
  
_(Meanwhile, down South.)_  
  
Aragorn sat watching his son proudly. Perhaps he would not have been quite  
so proud of Eldarion if he knew that Samwise Gamgee now had _two_ children,  
but as it was, he wasn't aware that he had any, so he was content to know  
that he now had a healthy heir to the throne as well as winning his bet with  
Master Samwise. Nothing in the whole of Middle Earth could possibly upset  
him now.  
  
The door opened, and Legolas and Gimli walked in.  
  
"Blast," he muttered to himself.  
  
The pair of misfits waved to Eldarion as they passed him, and approached  
Aragorn's throne.  
  
"Aragorn! How are you?" Gimli said heartily  
  
"Fine. Until you showed up."  
  
Legolas looked ecstatically happy. "Guess what? We have some simply  
_fantastic_ news!"  
  
"That _is_ something new."  
  
"Oh, Aragorn, you're so sour!" the elf said in a very falsely dignified  
voice. "No, really, this time it really _is_ fantastic!"  
  
"May I introduce…" Gimli announced smugly as the throne room doors opened  
again, " Narvi and Celebrimbor!"  
  
Aragorn saw the two figures (each their father's spitting image, except that  
Narvi's beard wasn't as long as Gimli's, and Celebrimbor's hair wasn't quite  
the same blond as Legolas') come through the door, smiled in a bemused sort  
of way, and fainted.  
  
****  
  
_Ta da! I know it's not very exciting, but we had to introduce you all to the  
characters. Hopefully you're not all asleep. If you are, WAKE UP! And now go  
review it, because if you don't like it we'll still write more chapters, so… hah. Have fun!_


	2. The Problems With A Seven Level City

The Lord of the Rings: - The Next Generation

This is the beginning if the actual story. We hope it turns out to be as funny as we think it will. Enjoy!

The sun rose lazily over the white tower of Minas Tirith, shining on the paved streets and reflecting off the magnificent walls. There was a pleasantly peaceful atmosphere everywhere. Everywhere, that is, except for inside the citadel. In here there was a frenzied feeling coming from everyone there, all of whom were rushing around, frantically trying to get everything ready for Aragorn's new 'project'. 

The idea was that he, and a group of well-versed friends, were going to set up a school within the city to educate the bright young citizens of Gondor. But Aragorn, being the scruffy, unorganised man he is, had not thought of exactly WHERE it would be held. So at the last minute a classroom was being set up in front of his throne.

Another aspect that he had failed to consider was that Legolas and Gimli had been asked to teach, and then been sent off on their merry way. This action was to cause him grief for weeks to come.

Éomer knew of course, he was a teacher of horsemanship (taken twice a week on the Pelenor Fields), but he was on an oath of secrecy. In fact, all the teachers were under an oath of secrecy, but the terrible two-some had never been restrained by such petty restrictions.

That is the reason that, on this fine sunny morning, a large party of people from various races was en-route to the great white city.

Aragorn stood proudly before his throne, gazing pompously across the hall at the rows of tables and chairs that had been set up. This, he had decided, was to be the assembly hall/gymnasium, where the students would meet and be told important notices for the day, and where armed combat lessons would take place (provided that the students did NOT scratch the perfectly smooth marble floors). He was very impressed. 

"Sire!" shouted a tower guard as he ran loudly through the door. [1] 

Aragorn sighed. "Oh, what is it now?"

"Sire! A large party of people from various races are en-route to Minas Tirith sire!"

Aragorn looked perplexed. "Are you sure? Has there been a famine of some other disaster?"

"Come and see, sire!"

Puzzled, The king of Gondor followed his guard out into the courtyard, where the White Tree stood, gleaming in the sun. The King wandered over to the battlement, and gazed out across the Pelennor Fields. He blinked. Then looked again. There was no doubt about it; there was a large crowd making their way towards the White City. There was also no mistaking that twinkle of gold in front of the party. Aragorn thought it very impractical to have beautiful glowing hair at times like these. [2] 

Aragorn saw red. He wheeled about and strode in his Angry King Stride towards the stairs (which, by the way, took rather a long time, so the effect of the Stride was rather diminished), and set off down to the sixth level, trying to appear kingly as well as menacing.

Aragorn was on a mission. And when Aragorn was on a mission, it would take a constipated Oliphaunt to deter him. That, and market day on the Fourth Level of Minas Tirith.  

He stepped through the gates from the Fifth Level onto the Fourth, and found, not an empty street as he had expected, but a wall of people, completely blocking the ominous passage he had intended to make. 

Aragorn stopped for a moment, considering his options. He could either make his way through the crowd, but that would interrupt his Striding. He could simply wait for the approaching party to make its way up to him, but that would certainly devalue his Angry King appearance. Or, he could try and make the crowd move.

"Ahem," Aragorn cleared his throat. Nothing happened. He coughed suggestively. Still, there was no reaction. He tried a convenient hacking fit, but he was, of course, not acknowledged. Slightly peeved that his citizens were blatantly ignoring him, Aragorn threw back his shoulders, puffed out his chest, and strode into the crowd. This reminded him vividly of what Boromir did on Caradhras in order to get them back the way they had originally come. He was immediately sandwiched between several human bodies, none of them realising that it was their King they were treading on.

How Boromir made this look so easy, Aragorn would ever after puzzle over. Striving with the will of Sauron through the _palantìr_ was far easier than this. The crowd were a vicious mob (especially the old ladies wielding walking sticks), with only one purpose in mind: to get to their designated stall. After several minutes of helpless struggling, Aragorn decided to take action against his current predicament. He straightened up to his full height, cleared his throat, and spoke in his most commanding manner: "Excuse me!"  His only response was a rather bony elbow being thrust with no small amount of force right into his nose. Aragorn yelped in a rather undignified manner, and clutched at his now considerably squashed nose, as a blinding white light flashed before his eyes. [3]

There was a loud gasp, followed by an urgent whispering of _'it's the King!' 'What?' 'It's the King! You just elbowed him in the nose!' _The poor man whose elbow had made such unfortunate contact with Aragorn's face cried out in alarm, and sank to his knees. "My apologies, Sire! I did not see you, Sire. Please, do not punish me, Sire!"

Aragorn stood up straight, and looked down at the man, feeling offended. The crowd immediately parted, leaving a broad, empty path for him to walk down. Giving the frightened man a nod of acknowledgment, Aragorn resumed his Angry King Striding. 

He continued until the Gate was in sight, the sun sparkling on the mithril inlay. By now, Aragorn was feeling rather tired. This Striding was no small feat, and he was rather out of practice after resuming the Throne of Gondor. As he reached the Gate, it swung open to reveal the golden hair he had spied from the courtyard, accompanied by the rest of Legolas, and his shadow (hereafter known as Gimli). Behind them, was a milling throng of people. 

"Morning, Aragorn!" Legolas said brightly.

"Mornin'" Gimli added cheerfully. 

Seeing with some alarm the curious shade of magenta Aragorn's face was becoming, Legolas turned to their followers.  "Would you, er, mind just waiting outside for a few moments, please? Gimli and I just need a quick chat with our old friend here." 

Agreeably, the crowd left Elf, Dwarf and Man in peace, in the shadow of the large statue of Elendil. Aragorn was quivering, and breathing rather heavily. Legolas and Gimli looked at him with some concern. Legolas glanced down at the Dwarf, then back at the King. He smiled weakly.      

"You don't happen to have any free spaces in your school, by any chance?" 

[1] Due to our overactive imaginations, we have decided that Gondorians pronounce 'Sire' as 'Soya' as in Soya Sauce. Don't ask why.

[2] We are actually of the opinion that Legolas has dark hair (which we won't get into now- don't bug us about it) but the rather unnaturally bright blonde of Movie!Legolas's hair is to good a parodying opportunity to pass up.

[3] Thanks to Orlando Bloom for this o so amusing quote: "WHITE LIGHT! WHITE LIGHT!"

Ah, Aragorn is such fun. Seriously, I want an Aragorn voodoo doll just for entertainment. ~Gimli~

Yes, everyone, Gimli helped me write this chapter, rather than just correcting my grammar. Hopefully, we will be writing together more often in the future. Cheers! ~Legolas~


	3. The First Assembly

Disclaimer: As before we don't own anything, except Merry's child cos he doesn't actually exist- but you all knew that. Oh, and Narvi and Celebrimbor pats them

****

The Next Generation- The First Assembly 

This was supposed to make Legolas and Gimli feel ashamed and sorry. They were supposed to cringe and grovel and beg for forgiveness. Instead, they were smirking at each other and struggling not to laugh, whilst pretending to take him so seriously it was irritating.

"You swore an oath of secrecy!" he hissed, ceasing his pacing and leaning over them.

"We did?" Legolas looked mildly surprised. "I don't recall that. Gimli?"

"Nope, can't say I can either."

Aragorn would happily have strangled them both. But maybe that wasn't painful enough. He took a deep breath and made a violent gesture in mid-air. Legolas' eyebrows shot skywards, and Gimli's moustache rustled as he tried not to laugh.

"One day… one day, I _swear… _I will… will… I'll…"

"You'll what, Aragorn?" Legolas asked.

"I will… I will… _kill you so badly-"_

"Just a question," Gimli interrupted, "but how can you kill us 'badly'? I mean, if we're killed, we're killed. I mean, you might have to clarify…"

"SHUT UP!" Aragorn gave the Dwarf a glare- now was not the time for his ridiculous pettiness. "One day, I am going to take your heads, and smash them together, then your skulls will explode, and your brains will fly everywhere! And then, I will burn your remains, until you are ashes, and then I will burn your ashes into even smaller ashes, and then feed them to the pigs!"

Legolas experimentally knocked on his skull with his knuckles, then Gimli's skull. Deciding they needed more proof as to whether this would work or not, the pair of them cracked their heads together.

"Nope," said Gimli. "Solid as a rock."

"I'm going to have a bruise now!" Legolas complained. "And there's white light flashing on my eyelids- I'm sure that's not normal."

Aragorn let out an impatient growl and flounced out of the room, making sure to slam the door behind him. He felt like screaming when he heard the Elf and Dwarf burst out laughing as soon as he had left.

Legolas struggled to hold together his composure, but found his facial muscles out of his control. Gimli clutched his aching stomach, wondering whether he would actually die of laughter.

"Well," Legolas gasped after a while, "I doubt with Aragorn in that sort of mood he'll be up to organising a school."

"Perhaps we might have to organise it for him," said Gimli. Evil plans began to form in their heads…

All the children were in the hall, running about, screaming, breaking things and generally wreaking havoc. Celebrimbor and Narvi were, naturally, at the heart of the chaos, standing on Aragorn's throne directing the destruction.

"Go on, tip that vase over! No, no, not that one! The big one! Oh… fine, whatever."

Suddenly the doors opened with a loud creak, and Éomer walked in, looking horrified at the noise. Immediately, Narvi and Celebrimbor changed tactics. Celebrimbor leapt from the throne and ran over to Éomer, shouting at the children as he sped past. "No, no! Stop it! What do you think you're doing? Aragorn will be furious!" he stopped in front of the Horse Lord and looked as pathetic as he possibly could. "Éomer, they won't listen to me!" he wailed.

Narvi took a different course of action. He strode over to young Faramir, who was busy drawing moustaches on all the statues he could reach, and the Dwarf pretended to box his ears. The hobbit, realising what was going on, instantly fell over, clutching his head and moaning. "Pack it in!" he exclaimed, glaring at Narvi.

"You deserved it."

Éomer decided to take control of the situation. He raised his hands palm-forward in a gesture of peace. "Alright, everybody, calm down!"

There was no change; if anything, the uproar became worse.

Éomer frowned. "Come on, now, stop it!" he called. A couple of young children ran past him, almost knocking his legs out from under him. This infuriated him, and his eyebrow began to twitch: always a danger sign. His slowly simmering annoyance reached the boil; his face began to turn red, and his scowled so deeply his eyes vanished under his brows. He ground his teeth and took in a deep breath through his nose.

"OI! SHUT UP!" he bellowed.

There was a brief pause, in which all the children froze and stared at him. Just as Éomer had begun to feel the beginnings of relief, however, the hubbub continued. If Éomer's face had become any redder steam would surely have been pouring out of his ears.

At that moment the doors swung open again, and Éomer spun around, preparing to attack whoever walked through. Legolas sauntered in, followed by Gimli who was holding a bag of frozen peas, which he immediately slapped to Éomer's head. The Horse Lord gently fizzled, soft curling steam rising from under his blonde hair. Éomer sighed. "Thank you," he said.

It was at least a minute before Gimli moved or said anything. Legolas came up to him.

"Gimli, are you alright?"

The Dwarf pointed at Éomer, mouthing silently, his eyes popping slightly.

"Éomer, what have you done to him?" Legolas turned to the Horse Lord.

"Nothing!" he exclaimed.

"He said 'thank you' to me!" Gimli whispered, still looking horrified.

Legolas turned to Éomer with concern. "Are you sick?" Before Éomer had a chance to reply, a paper aeroplane zoomed through the air and hit Legolas square on the forehead. Without a change in expression, the Elf turned to the children, whose hyperactivity had not abated in the slightest.

"STOP!"  An immediate quiet descended on the children, as they froze mid-activity. "Alright, everyone, could you _sit down, _please." Much to Éomer's annoyance, all of the children sat down straight away, without so much as a murmur.

All except one. Elfwine, Éomer's ten-year-old son, remained standing. "Father? I thought you said that the Lord Elessar was going to be taking these classes." Celebrimbor and Narvi exchanged smirks at the boy's cultured accent. [1]

"Well, there's been a little bit of a change of plan," Éomer explained. "He's not _really _available at the moment…"

"AAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

Arwen leaned closer to the door, wondering whether she dared open it. At the sounds of heavy objects hitting a solid surface with considerable force, she decided that she didn't dare.

"AAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHH! I HATE THEM! I HATE THEM!"

Did Arwen value her life over her husband's, that was the question. There had been no mention of psychotic screaming and damage of property in her marriage vows as far as she could recall. "Are you alright, dear?" she called through the door.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!"

"I'll come back later, dear. I'll bring you some tea." Valar, she was turning into a real housewife!

When Legolas had finally gotten all the children assembled in front of the steps, Gimli climbed onto the black Steward's chair, smiling to himself as he considered how it's previous occupant would have reacted to seeing it used in this manner. He took extra care to wipe the dirt off of his boots onto the luxurious upholstery, standing up straight in order to make himself as tall as possible- which, admittedly, was still not all that tall.

"Right, everyone!" he called across the hall. Narvi waved at him, trying to put him off. "I know you're probably not all that interested in doing this, and frankly neither am I, but we've got to make the best of a bad situation, right?"

All the kids cried out happily. Legolas glared at Gimli, to make sure he didn't get them all wound up again. "You're probably also expecting Lord Aragorn to be teaching you, but there's been a slight problem, and he is no longer available."

There were more cheers.

"To be honest," Gimli continued, "There aren't actually any other teachers here apart from us three, because Faramir and Imrahil abandoned this as another of Aragorn's hair-brained schemes, and rightly so; so the classes are going to have to be bigger than expected. There are a few rules, unfortunately: don't kill anyone, try not to maim anybody too badly, don't break things-" at this, the Dwarf glanced doubtfully about the wrecked hall. "Don't break the rules, and, most importantly, don't look down on us short-arses, because we can't help it!" The taller children laughed. "Oh yes, on more thing, please try to listen to us, because there's a lot of you, and it would make this go a lot quicker. But only listen to us if we're talking sense, so if I tell you to walk off the edge of the tower don't bother, okay?"

"Right, everybody whose name begins with 'Z', you're with me!" Legolas called across the hall. Nobody moved. "That's my class sorted!" The Elf beamed.

_[1] We have nothing against snooty accents- believe me; you won't find many people that much snootier than we are, darlings. We know how amusing they are, however, and as it's Éomer's child and has such a silly name, we decided he needed some more personality._

Legolas: It's different to how I thought it would be, but it's still fantastic, if I do say so myself. 

Gimli: Apologies for the excess use of the words 'right', 'children', 'everybody' and 'everyone'. I have a love-hate relationship with spell-check so am refusing to use it's thesaurus.


End file.
